


Born To Die

by stephaneeneenee



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, Drug Use, GHOULS GHOULS GHOULS, Ghoul OC - Freeform, Ghoul Stories, Ghouls, Language, OCs - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, The Slog, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephaneeneenee/pseuds/stephaneeneenee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina just wants a place to fit in. She's lost everything and wants to find herself again. She's not sure where to start so she heads to The Slog to see if the settlement of Ghouls is just where she is supposed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born To Die

 

Regina tripped on a crack in the pavement as she walked. She let out a pained gasp as her bare knees crashing to the hard ground. Wearing a dress to walk the Commonwealth wasn't the smartest idea, she thought. She sat herself up and evaluated the bleeding scrapes on her knees. She didn't have any Chems or Stimpaks to help it sting less or stop bleeding. She sighed.  _ This was the fucking dumbest idea ever. _

Traveling from Quincy to The Slog had been rough. She had what clothes she wore, the cigarette between her lips, one syringe of Med-X, and a 10 millimeter pistol in a thigh holster to get her through the two day journey. She couldn't quite figure out what happened when she left Goodneighbor after Vic got killed. She constantly told herself she was an idiot for leaving. Quincy wasn't any better and was filled with a gang of gunners who didn't particularly care for a skinny, smart-mouthed irradiated woman invading their space. So, she stuck to the outskirts of town and was doing fine until the gang got riled up over some band of raiders that were coming though. 

A wisp of chocolate brown hair fell in her face.  _ Naturally, this damn wig would slide when I fell.  _ She reached up with trembling hands to readjust it, swinging the length over her shoulder to pick the twigs out of the curls. That was another thing she realized was a dumb idea as an afterthought.  _ Let's have long hair to travel! It'll be so great!  _ She rolled her eyes to herself as she pushed herself off the ground. She adjusted her white framed sunglasses on her face and looked up to the clear mid-afternoon sky. She looked ridiculous and she knew it.  _ I need a cigarette.  _ With a huff, a determined scowl crossed her face and she started walking again. 

As she continued on through the brush, she imagined what Michael. Even after 200 years and the knowledge of what the man had done, she was hung up on him. She would never forget the day he told her she was the prettiest thing working for him, with her legs for days and a singing voice far older than she was. But, here she was; a ghoul, lost, broke, and an addict. 

She reminisced on the times at the bar. The music being almost enough to get her through. The soul in her voice bringing in women, and her wide ocean blue eyes dragging in the men. Up on a barstool, crooning about her boss that never thought of her as anything other than an employee and the way he made most of his money on Friday and Saturday nights. She could almost smell the liquor and sweat in the heat of summer. Her skin prickling in the cold air the weak air conditioner pushed through the vent above the stage. 

Voices in the distance brought her back to reality. She shook her head, her waist length brown locks falling off her shoulder as a single tear rolled down her cheek. The bad times threatened to creep into the back of her mind. She looked around, not seeing anyone the voices could belong to just yet. A flash of bloodied white cotton shirt flashed in her mind. She took a deep breath, forcing her legs to keep moving. Pale blue lips and blank eyes stared at her through her thoughts. A sob wracked her body as the loneliness set in.  _ Fuck me.  _

She approached a tree and leaned into it. Not caring if it left traces of bark on her black trench coat or in her hair. Another sob claimed her breath. She tried to focus on her surroundings. The voices, now closer, the rough bark under her scarred fingertips, the scent of soil in the air. She sucked in a breath like a fish out of water. 

A hand came to her tiny waist. She could feel her ribs though the red sequin dress she wore. She slid her hand to her stomach and focused on her breathing. In and out. In and out. She stared at the ground, then snapped her head up, that focused look on her face again. She surprised herself that she hadn't reached for the gun on her thigh, even though she ran out of ammo halfway through her journey. Holding the barrel to her temple was a common occurrence when she felt like this.  _ Alone. I'm all alone.  _

She was a coward, though. She could never pull the trigger when Michael’s voice was in the back of her head telling her she had the best voice he'd heard in years. The music and him always brought her back. The Med-X expertly injected in her ruined arm grounded her more, but she was out of that too. She shot up when she had reached Boston Common and could find cover to ride out her high. She knew her thoughts right now were because of her withdrawals. She'd smoked her only cigarette as she walked out of Quincy and hadn't found any as she walked. She tried not to pick-pocket or kill people. Just sweet talked them in her husky voice or convinced them they didn't want to mess with her. 

_ You’re so close, Gigi. Keep going.  _ The voice of her mother rang through her skull. She had said that when Regina got hired at the bar as the talent. She knew that was true. She had almost made it, filling the dive on the outskirts of Brooklyn most days of the week. Then Michael happened. She was waiting in his office to talk to him about getting paid, since he decided she could live off tips alone. A loud argument in the hallway that led to the tall dark haired man to be pushed through the door caught her off guard. No one could get near him, usually. His bodyguards being some of the best this side of Manhattan. She shuffled under the desk as he crashed through the door. All she heard then was the ringing in her ears after a gunshot. She looked through the crack at the bottom of the desk and just saw a puddle of red. 

She screamed. She screamed until her voice was gone. So much for her money, so much for singing that night to make money, so much for  _ him. _ She scuttled from under the desk and around it, her hand to her mouth in shock, the smell of iron burning her nose. His lips were tinged blue, his brown eyes blank and lifeless. She fell to her knees, not caring that she was in his blood and buried her face in her hands. A piece of her died that day. 

She found out a few days later that he went into some other mobsters territory and hooked up with his daughter. He hadn’t been paying her because the money didn’t exist. It was tied up in drugs and dirty dealings across the city. It had been the same thing with her father. Caught up in a game he could never win and taking it out on her. 

Everything good in her life had been taken from her. She packed a bag, and hopped on the train out of the city. While waiting on the train for the last leg of her trip to Boston, the news broke about the bombs. She sighed. Maybe she would just get burnt up in a nuclear explosion. She had hoped, honestly. For some reason though, her legs carried her across the platform to one of those pods they had been advertising and she shoved the last of the cash she had on her in the machine and climbed in. 

She tumbled out of the damn thing almost a week later. She looked down at her hands, trying to make sure it was all real. Marred and pink skin glared up at her. She just stood there, and cried. She was lost. Everything was gone now. She didn’t have to worry about her father showing up to slap her around, or her mother not waking up after a bad binge. She didn’t have to worry about money or friends or work. She was profoundly  _ alone. _

She had somehow managed to wander to Boston without direction. Broken highways and buried signs led her where she wanted to go. She had heard whispers about a city that had started up in what was Fenway Park. The signs buried in radioactive muck guided her there soon enough. She started a life there. Making money, now known as caps, by standing on second base and singing her pipes out. When the bar came along, she tried to get them to hire her, but they had no interest. It broke her heart. She thrived on the lost and lonely souls that dwelled in bars. Comforting them with her sultry voice and her looks. On the way back to her shack, she stopped by the merchant that had showed up. She bought a mirror. In her home, she hung it and glanced into it, finding herself screaming in agony all over again. It was the first time in over a year Michael had crossed her mind. She was hideous and him on that dirty office floor was hideous. The world was hideous. 

She didn’t go out to sing for weeks. She spent what caps she had on a wig, a dress and cigarettes. Setting one of the cigarettes between her barely there lips, she set to work getting as dolled up as she could. Then, she went back to the bar. 

She sat at the counter, ordered a rum and Nuka, and lit another cigarette. Taking a long, yet somehow delicate drag, she relaxed. She felt like Regina again. She still had those striking eyes, and enough charm to talk a man out of his clothes if she felt like it. She glanced over her shoulder, catching all of the eyes in the room. One man came up to her, offering her a familiar looking syringe. 

“Med-X is still a thing?” She asked, skeptical of his offer. Her voice had managed to stay mostly intact through the whole becoming whatever it was that she became. All the others she had met rasped like they had been eating cigarettes for as long as they’ve been alive instead of smoking them. 

“Yeah, doll. Where’ve ya been hidin’? Been missin’ ya on second base, there.” The man caught her attention with that. He liked her singing. He sought her out for it. She snatched the drug out of his hand and clenched her fist, forcing the veins to pop up into her ruined skin. She pushed the needle in, depressing the plunger in almost the same motion. She looked at the person beside her with sleepy eyes. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She whispered in his ear as she stood and winked. She flipped the hair she now had over her shoulder and walked out of the bar. She had gotten what she came for. 

She bounced around men like that for months, maybe years, it all became a blur to her. Go to the bar, get high, have sex, sleep. It was a cycle that kept her going for as long had she had known. When you lose your virtue at a young age, it just becomes part of life. 

Her singing had become a siren’s call. Luring in men as the sun shined, and keeping them until long after it set. Every time she set foot in the bar, they begged her to sing. She always denied them, like they had done her. She claimed she stopped singing, reminded her too much of old times. It was a complete lie, naturally. 

Somewhere along the lines, a pack of feral Ghouls attacked. She had also found out that a Ghoul was what she had became. When the attack happened, all those like her were kicked out of city or were shot. This is what caused her to drag her ass to Goodneighbor. 

Reality came back to her. She blinked in the dim blue light of dusk, seeing lights not too far ahead. She took a weary step forward. The withdraw was catching up with her and it hadn’t even been 8 hours. She wished she had maybe taken someone out just for a cigarette. She walked up the hill, hearing laughter and talking.  _ Maybe I can finally feel at home.  _ She straightened out her dress and hair as she took the last few steps into the settlement. A tall Ghoul in a black shirt caught her eye and walked over to her. Her shaking hands balled into fists to stop them.

“How can I help you?” He asked. She took her sunglasses off and looked up at him. He gasped. “Gigi?” 

“Hello, Wiseman.” Her voice trembled as much as her hands.

“You look like shit.” 

“Thanks for the information I didn’t need, asshole. No fucking duh I look like shit. I just hiked my ass here from goddamn Quincy.” She wanted to scream in his face. She had known him a while, meeting him while she stood there singing on second base. 

“Then why are you shaking?” He questioned. She knew her glassy eyes told the whole story.

“You know damn well why I’m shaking. Stop playing dumb. A few years doesn’t change centuries of bad habits. Do you have a cig?” She spat out.

“Yeah, damn. Calm down.” He fished one out of his pants pocket. “Here.” 

She snatched it out of his fingertips and set it between her lips. She pulled a lighter out of her cleavage and lit it, sucking in the stale smoke like it was water. She held her breath and exhaled slowly. 

“Nice place you have going here.” She commented.

“Yeah, it’s rounding out quite nicely, isn’t it?” He grinned, looking back at the pool and the gaggle of ghouls roaming around. She nodded when he looked back at her.

“Mind if I stay awhile?” She mumbled. She took another drag, flicking the ashes off when she removed it from her mouth.

“Sure, why don’t you come over and meet everyone.” He turned from her as she finished her smoke and gestured for her to follow him. _Maybe I can fit in._ _The drugs can wait._ She nodded to herself and followed the man, hoping that just maybe she really could sing and live again. 


End file.
